


purple paint

by be_the_good_guys



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Canonical Character Death, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Are Parents, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, How Do I Tag, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Stanley Uris Lives, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22400686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_the_good_guys/pseuds/be_the_good_guys
Summary: It is dead.Stan Uris helped kill It.Richie and Eddie shared a life together for years before returning to Derry.None of this stopped Eddie from getting hurt.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh & Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, The Losers Club/The Losers Club (IT)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	1. one.

_Death doesn’t discriminate_

_Between the sinners and the saints_

_It takes_

_And It takes_

_And It takes_

_But we keep living anyway_

* * *

“Here for Edward Kaspbrak?”

Richie was on his feet before the doctor had even finished his sentence, so fast that he stumbled. Bill instinctively reached out to steady him. Beverly nudged awake Ben, who had been dozing on her shoulder. The two joined the rest of the standing losers, drawing the attention of others in the hospital waiting room. Beverly did her best to ignore the persistent itch of stares drilling holes into her flesh; she didn’t blame the strangers. The losers were a sight for sore eyes, drenched in sewer muck and stained with Eddie’s blood (blood in general, in Bev’s case). She’d been carefully avoiding curious (and disgusted) gazes since they’d arrived, but there was no hiding now that they’d taken center stage with the doctor. Beverly caught a few members out of the corner of her eye shifting forward in their seats, as though the losers were live entertainment. It took every morsel of patience left in her to not turn around and flip them off.

“Is- is he out of surgery?” Richie asked, more animated than he’d been since they’d forced him into one of the stiff plastic chairs to wait.

The doctor hesitated. “You’re Mr. Kaspbrak’s husband?”

Richie nodded fervently, unaffected by the question.

But Bev knew.

She’d taught herself how to read expressions and body language before learning to read words. It was a skill that had come in useful with her father, and later in life with Tom. One look at the doctor’s appearance and she knew this was not news that they wanted to receive before a room filled with people; this wasn’t the news that they wanted to receive at all. She clenched her hands into fists, nails digging into palms that were already rubbed raw from climbing rocks in the sewers. She wanted to clamp her hands over Richie’s ears, protect him from Dr. Brendon’s next words. It felt like lunging for a falling glass from across the room.

They learned long ago, when Bill clutched his little brother’s rain slicker in the sewers, sobbing like happiness was a myth, that you can’t save everybody. But for the briefest, foolish moment, Bev had let herself believe that they could save Eddie. 

“I’m Dr. Brendon. I’m very sorry to inform you this, but I have bad news.”

Beverly watched Richie’s ever-moving limbs turn to stone. 

“You wuh-wanna sit d-down buh-bud?”

Beverly heard what she already understood in Bill’s voice, and saw the disbelief washing over the others’ expressions. But not Richie.

Richie shifted out of Bill’s grip on his elbow, holding steady eye contact with the doctor. “What- what the fuck does that mean?”

“As you know, the trauma from your husbands’ injury was extremely severe. Even surgery was a risk in his state, but it was our only option. We did everything we could to get him through it, but his body just couldn’t handle the stress.” Dr. Brendon sighed in a way that made it clear that this part of his job never got easier. “Mr. Kaspbrak, your husband has died.”

Time didn’t stop when those words left the doctor’s mouth. The seconds kept on ticking by. The people on the sidelines looked away hastily, finally seeming to care that they’re intruding.

The only one who time seemed to halt for was Richie, who bore no reaction. He stared at the doctor like he was still waiting on what the man had to say.

“Mr. Kaspbrak,” the doctor repeated.

“I heard you,” Richie said slowly. Then he laughed. “Sorry, I just- I get what you’re trying to say. It just doesn’t make sense, man. You have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about. Eddie’s fine- Jesus, Bill, can you quit touching me? I get that I’m irresistible, but I want to respect our marriages.” 

“Rich,” Stan said weakly through tears.

“Beep beep, I know,” Richie grinned and it twisted something deep in Beverly’s gut. _He’s in shock._ “Can I see Eds now?”

“Just give us time to finish closing up your husband’s body and you’ll be able to see him. In the meantime, I can recommend grief counselors-“

“No,” Richie said, shaking his head and backing up a bit. “Won’t be needing any of those, because Eddie’s going to be fine, alright? We got him out of Neibolt, he was still alive when we brought him here, so he should be okay. He- he can’t just-“ Richie swallowed thickly, and laughed again. “No.”

The doctor pressed his lips together.

Beverly stepped forward. “Honey-“ but Richie just moved away, unreachable. 

“Sorry, Bev, I just- I think I need some space- Can you believe this guy? Listen, I don’t… I don’t feel so hot, I think I’m gonna... go get some air-” he gestured vaguely towards the exit and was out the door before anyone had the chance to stop him. Stan followed Richie out, leaving the others standing around in a trance.

“Denial is a common reaction to death,” the doctor explained. “The first of five stages of grief. If you all need anything or have any questions, we’ll assist as well as we can. Somebody will be with you soon to discuss next steps.” He apologized once more and departed.

“Holy shit,” Ben said from behind Beverly, his voice wobbling.

Bill slowly sunk into a chair.

Beverly remembered glittery nail polish. The first and only time she and Eddie had ever hung out alone, in Ben’s basement while the other boys were at the Aladdin to catch a movie neither of them had any interest in seeing. She remembered the stilted, awkward conversation that had ensued; it was clear that Eddie had no clue how to talk to girls, which Bev had found endearing.

_She didn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes kept peeking over the edge of his comic book, studying Bev painting her nails before quickly retreating behind the pages when he thought she noticed._

_Bev blew lightly on the drying polish, glancing at the cover of_ X-Men #134.

_"Want me to do yours?” She asked._

_“My-my what?” He replied it what he must have thought was a casual tone, flipping the page and lowering the comic._

_She raised an eyebrow and waggled her fingers at him._

_“N-no. Why would I want that, boys don’t paint their nails…”_

_Bev shrugged. “Says who? I think this color would look nice on you.”_

_He opened his mouth to respond but no words came out._

_“I can take it off before the other guys get back- but they wouldn’t care, you know.”_

_His eyes flickered to her glittery blue nails, biting his lip. He did that a lot, Bev realized. His bottom lip bore two marks from his front teeth. Finally, he gave in, nervously shifting forward. “Okay…”_

_They didn’t talk while she painted his nails. It was the type of comfortable silence that spoke for itself._

_“Done,” she said, screwing the bottle closed and dropping it into her bookbag with a flourish. “Don’t touch anything while they dry or they’ll smudge.”_

_Eddie was smiling down at his nails. It might’ve been the most at-ease she’d ever seen him; he’d even left his fanny pack across the room with his comic. Her heart swelled._

_He left the polish on all night, earning compliments from the other losers once they’d returned. Only the following morning after the sleepover did he go to Bev for remover._

_“My ma wouldn’t…” Eddie hesitated in his explanation like he was debating how much would be too much to say. Bev had been there. “Um, I don’t think she’d be too happy about it.”_

_“Of course,” she said, understandingly. While rubbing the polish off with a cotton swab and remover borrowed from Ben’s mother, she got the sense she and Eddie had more in common than she thought._

_“_ _Hey, how about next time we hang out I bring the rest of my nail polish. I have a red one I think you’d like.”_

_Eddie’s shoulders visibly un-tensed from when he’d been talking about his mom. He smiled lopsidedly. “I’d like that.”_

Beverly wished there’d been a next time. A few days after that sleepover was when Bill’s fist had collided with Richie’s face, and the losers had gone their separate ways before reuniting in the sewers. The oath was the last time she’d seen Eddie as kids. Upon arriving in the clearing, she’d slipped that red bottle of polish to him with nothing but a wink.

Fast forward twenty-seven years later at the Jade Of The Orient, she’d smiled at the chipped purple polish adorning Eddie’s nails.

Richie had chimed in with a fond explanation: “Our kid Jo wanted to paint them. Cute, right?”

Eddie had simply grinned back at Bev, remembering the same day in Ben’s basement. Maybe wordless conversations had always been their thing.

She tried not to think of holding Eddie’s cooling and bloodied hand during the frantic drive to the hospital, his nails still painted that same purple.

She tried not to think about his radiant smile when she’d painted them as children, how the tiny gesture had brought him more happiness than she could have fathomed. 

Beverly finally felt what Bill had when crying over Georgie’s raincoat, because now she’d lost a brother, too.

“Wuh-what do we do?” Bill asked incredulously, their leader finally beaten down.

Ben was on the phone with Mike, who had left fifteen minutes prior to retrieve clean clothes for themselves and Eddie because they’d expected a long hospital stay while he recovered. And now Ben was crying through telling Mike why it was no longer necessary; they’d meet him at the Townhouse.

What do they do? She turned towards the glass entrance doors. On the other side, Stan was gripping Richie’s shoulders, and she couldn’t make out what Richie was saying, but she could see him cracking, the jagged lines spreading out from his chest until he was sinking to his knees. Stan followed him down, as all the losers would, with his arms secured tight around Richie before Richie even had time to fall into them. And fall he did, slumping against Stan like all the life had been sucked out of him.

Bev looked back at the others, and wordlessly nodded them to the door. They would do the only thing they could, and what they knew best: be there. 


	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in Chicago...

Jo Kaspbrak had known something was wrong since being carted off to Grams’ without an explanation disregarding “high school reunion”.

She knew something was _majorly_ wrong when Papa wasn’t answering any calls.

“Try Dad,” Alex suggested idly from the couch without looking up from his book. She scanned the cover to see what it was, but his hand obscured half the title. It might have been a school book, judging by him clicking his pen every minute to scribble something in the margins, but Jo wouldn’t be surprised if Alex annotated books for fun and she didn’t care enough to ask.

“You think I haven’t tried?” Jo tossed her phone onto one of Grams’ overstuffed armchairs and flung herself after it, draping her legs over one armrest. “I’m not worried about _Dad_ not answering,” she argued, gesticulating at the ceiling. “He loses his phone at least five times a day. But _Papa-_ ”

“Goes Joyce Byers in _Stranger Things_ when _we_ leave him on read. I know Jo, he’s my dad too.” Alex swatted one of Jo’s dangling feet with his book, rolling his eyes.

Jo jolted up, adjusting her askew glasses. “So you see what I mean!”

“Sure. But do you know what I think?”

Jo raised her eyebrows.

Alex sighed. “I think dads are at a high school reunion in their middle-of-nowhere hometown and have shitty cell service.”

“Uh, yeah.” Jo leapt to her feet and resumed pacing the length of the shag carpet. “No kidding. Their middle-of-nowhere hometown in _Maine_ , that they never once bothered to even give us the name of until they got some… some _abrupt_ invitation to return. Dads always said their childhoods were so uneventful there was nothing good enough to remember.” Jo spun around to face Alex, dark coils of hair bouncing off her forehead. “We didn’t even know that they grew up in the same town! They told us they met in college!”

“Maybe they did,” Alex shrugged. “They could have lived in the same town and just not talked before attending UCLA.”

“Not a town like Derry,” Jo shook her head, combing a hand through her hair to pull her bangs back. “I looked it up. The place has two schools a population of negative-one thousand. They must have talked as kids at some point, or at least should have been able to recognize each other.”

“Well, dads are pretty different. I can imagine even more so as kids. They were probably in separate friend groups growing up.”

“It still doesn’t explain why they got so weird when their ‘friend from high school’-“ Jo made air quotes around the title “-called.” When Alex didn’t respond, she continued eagerly, “I was there. Dad puked in the sink right after hanging up. Then Papa called and told us about the car accident he got in after the _same person_ called him. Next thing we know, _bam_ ,“ she clapped for effect, garnering no reaction from her brother. “They’re up and gone. I mean, what are the odds?”

Alex furrowed his brow. Some people had a resting-bitch face, but Alex Kaspbrak’s resting-I-Don’t-Like-This face could win awards. “You’re overthinking this, Jo.” Alex set his book and pen down on the coffee table and Jo finally got a clear view of the cover. _Black Rapids,_ by William Denbrough.

She snorted. “Nerd.”

Alex ignored her, swinging his legs over the side of the couch and pulling up his crutches. He pushed himself to his feet. “If you want to keep playing detective, pester Grams after she’s done putting Caroline down for her nap.”

“Grams has no more to say about Derry than dads did!” Jo complained, trailing after her older brother into the kitchen. She suddenly stopped in her tracks. “Either that, or she’s hiding something.”

Alex flashed Jo a look over his shoulder, and she broke, giggling at the absurd idea of Grams withholding some dark secret. “Okay, maybe not.” Anxiety coiled around her rib cage, squeezing hard. Her smile faded, and she hopped up on the counter, curling into herself. “Fuck. I just have a bad feeling.”

Alex softened. He grabbed a cookie off the platter on the counter (m&m- Dad’s favorite) and held it out to his sister. Peace offering. 

Jo accepted the cookie and smiled weakly. Her free hand tugged at a loose thread on the hem of her sweater. 

Alex bumped the younger girl’s shoulder as he leaned back against the counter. “I know you’re anxious, but you need to take a step back. Look at the big picture. Dads returned to their lame-ass hometown in Maine that Google Maps might as well have skipped over entirely. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Jo thought, breaking off a bit of cookie. “Papa gets stuck sitting next to someone with a cold on the plane and never letting us fly anywhere again?”

“You bet, kid.” Alex swiped the bit of cookie she’d broken off, popping it in his mouth while she swatted his arm.

_Eddie Kaspbrak’s life changed on the morning of February 16th, 2001 in the midst of yelling at his roommate for leaving cereal out on the counter._

_“Close the box, put it back on the shelf! It’s not that fucking hard, Richard!”_

_“Mhm.” Came the muffled reply from the opposite end of their little apartment._

_“Jesus Christ, it’s cold as balls in here,” Eddie continued. The two of them couldn’t afford meddling with the thermostat, and even if they could Eddie didn’t necessarily trust the one that came with their dingy, low-rent apartment to not erupt in flames. He pulled on the hoodie Richie had left over the back of one of the folding chairs at their feeble attempt at a kitchen table. As much as he grumbled about his roommate’s smoking habits, he didn’t mind the scent of cigarettes that clung to the hoodie. It smelled like Richie, familiar and comforting, even though they’d only been friends for a few years._

_“Yeah,” Came Richie’s distracted voice. “Hey, Eds?”_

_“Could it take you any longer to get the mail? Seriously Richie, what are you doing at the front door, jacking off?” Maybe the stress of money and nursing school was finally getting to Eddie, and he should feel worse about taking it off on Richie, but it was one of those mornings._

_“Wanna come explain this?” Richie asked, completely unaffected. Eddie shoveled the last bite of his cereal into his mouth and dropped the bowl in the sink._

_“Explain what-“ he halted at the open front door beside Richie, eyes locking on the foreign contraption on their doormat. “What the fuck?”_

_His brain struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. The infant was fast asleep, one tiny hand curled around the thin blanket draped over it._

_Richie kneeled down, beginning to unfasten the straps on the baby carrier. Eddie snapped out of his trance._

_“What the hell are you doing? Don’t touch it, we don’t know who it belongs to-“_

_“Little guy’s freezing,” Richie said, taking the baby out of the carrier and holding him close to his chest. “Who the fuck would leave their kid out in weather like this?”_

_The baby hardly reacted to Richie’s touch, simply squirming a little to get acquainted with the new position before settling back into sleep. Eddie softened, nurse-mode switching on in his brain. “Okay, give him to me.”_

_Richie waited for Eddie to pull off his hoodie before handing the baby over, watching while Eddie swaddled the baby in it to best of his ability. “Go get more blankets.”_

_While Richie did that, Eddie kneeled down by the baby carrier, awkwardly bouncing the baby in his arms. “Okay, one step at a time.” He murmured, exhaling and scanning the carrier for clues. “First question: How did you wind up on our doorstep?”_

_He removed the baby blanket and found a thick envelope hidden beneath it, tucked into the side of the carrier. Richie returned with an armful of blankets._

_“What’d you find?” He asked. Eddie held up the heavy envelope, cradling the infant in the crook of his arm._

_“Here, take him and swaddle him in those like I did,” Eddie instructed, handing the baby over. Richie held him a little less skillfully than the nursing student had, but still managed to carry him over to the sofa without waking him up._

_“Is it normal for him to be this quiet? Aren’t babies, like, supposed to cry and shit?” Richie asked, ever the eloquent one. Eddie wasn’t paying attention as he opened the overstuffed Manila envelope, pulling out a stack of papers and packets. He removed the top one, his heart skipping a beat when he saw his own name written in neat cursive._

Eddie.

You won’t remember me- you were drunk when we met and asleep when I left. Hell, I hardly remember what you looked like. I suppose he looks like you, though, because I can’t see myself in him. Needless to say, he’s yours. I would have found you earlier, but I think it’ll be easier for both of us this way. My plan is to drop him off and leave the country, so by the time you read this, I’ll be long gone. This isn’t something I’m proud of, which is why I’m leaving it behind me to start a new life somewhere else with a new name and a clean slate.

His name is Alexander. I gave him your last name, and you can choose a middle name for him if you want to. He’s around four weeks old now. He was born with a few complications, a spinal disorder that could mean trouble walking in the future- most of the information I included in this envelope is regarding that. It’s fuzzy, but I remember you mentioning that you’re a nurse, so my hope is you’ll be able to do more for him than I can.

I know this must seem ridiculous, but I’m doing it all for him. I didn’t want this. I can’t afford a baby. I had him because I thought I could handle it. They say that when mothers hold their babies for the first time they’re supposed to feel some indescribable bond, but when I held Alex, I felt nothing. All I see when I look at him is the consequence of a one-night-stand and the eyes of someone I can’t remember- your eyes. I may have given birth to him, but he’s not my baby. He’s yours.

You don’t have to keep him. I included the documents I could get my hands on so the legal business will go over as smoothly as possible. However, if you do decide to keep him, give him a better life than I can. I remember your kindness, Eddie. I liked you better than any other guy I ever hooked up with. I hope your son grows up to be kind like you.

Good luck, Kaspbrak.

_The letter ended without a signature._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference:  
> As explained in this chapter, Alex is Eddie's biological son, the result of a drunken one night stand with a woman when he was around twenty-four. When Alex was left on Eddie and Richie's doorstep, Eddie and Richie were best friends and roommates but had not yet explored their romantic feelings for each other. There will be more on that later.  
> In the present:  
> Alex- fourteen.  
> Jo- twelve.  
> Caroline- around a year old.  
> Jo and Caroline were both adopted after Richie and Eddie had gotten together. Grams is Maggie Tozier.  
> Thanks so much for all the support on the first chapter!


	3. three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days since defeating It and losing Eddie. Beverly has much-needed conversations with two of her boys at the town house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW  
> some discussion/description of Stan's bath (suicide attempt), not super graphic

Beverly woke up with the sun. Light filtered in through the heavy curtains, painting stripes across the hardwood floors and weathered old wallpaper. She collected moments like these, mornings that felt timeless before her waking mind could process memories and life for a new day. The illusion never lasted long, but she was adamant not to cling to it in favor of reality. The light bathing the room lost it’s warmth as each memory unfolded.

They’d defeated It and lost Eddie the night before last. Yesterday had been a blur that began with Bill going home and had ended with Ben and Stan had-

_Oh._ Beverly rolled over to face the inside of the bed and ended up with her nose brushing against Ben’s. He was still sleeping, features slack and breathing even. They weren’t touching, but Beverly could feel his warmth as though they were, like he’d absorbed the very morning she’d been admiring. If it was Tom, Beverly would be out of bed by now and in the shower, but it wasn’t Tom. It was _Ben_. And for the first time in a long time, Beverly felt safe sleeping beside a man.

Ben’s eyelashes fluttered. He smiled at her sleepily. “Morning.”

She smiled back, whispering, “Good morning.”

Her knuckles brushed against his between them. He took her soft hand in his calloused one, pressing his lips to the back of it. 

_Of course it’s Ben_ , she remembered thinking, hearing him scream that he loved her. Twenty-seven years apart, and his last words would have been that he loved her. _Of course_.

“What time is your flight?” He murmurs in lieu of disturbing their bubble of quiet.

“Ten,” she said. Her hand not holding his found his chest. His skin radiated heat through his soft t-shirt. If either of them were “winter fire”, it should be Ben, Beverly thought. He was warm enough to withstand any cold. “We still have a few hours.”

“D’you think Richie’s up?” Ben shifted, resting his head on his elbow.

“Probably,” she replied. “He hasn’t really been sleeping.”

“Jesus.” Guilt seeped into Ben’s expression. Beverly moved the hand on his chest up to cup his jaw.

“Stan didn’t mean what he said last night,” she whispered. “He’s grieving Eddie and worried about Richie like the rest of us.”

“He still shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I could take it,” Beverly said. “You and I both know it was stress talking, not Stan. He didn’t mean to be hurtful.”

“Is that what you told yourself when your husband hurt you?” Ben frowned.

Beverly inhaled, suddenly self conscious over the fading bruises cuffing her wrists. “It’s not the same. What Stan said doesn’t even come close to what Tom-”

“I’m not saying it does,” Ben reassured. “But don’t you think we should talk about it?”

“I’m getting a divorce.” Beverly’s hand slipped off his face and onto the pillow, fingers curling. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Moving on to a new stage in your life doesn’t mean the last one never happened,” Ben insisted. “You were the one who said you wanted to run towards something, not away.”

“How does that compare?”

“Running towards something means you started somewhere. You acknowledge that starting point even as you leave it behind. I think you’re trying to run away.”

Silence hung in the air between them. Being with Ben suddenly felt too good to be true, like she would blink and Tom would be in his place. But Ben was here, looking at her with those concerned, dark eyes of his, not pushing or manipulating her into giving him what he asked, which was only for her honesty. _Because he cares about you. He loves you. You love him._

“I think I need time to think,” she told him. “Maybe even therapy. I need to end it with Tom before I can fully come to terms with everything he did to me.”

“That would be good.” Ben nodded a bit. “And I would understand if you don’t want to rush into a relationship. I love you, but you get to make that call. And you get to make it on your own time.”

“I love you too,” Beverly smiled, warmth filling her chest cavity. “I want this. We had so much time stolen from us.”

His smile was the same as when they were kids. So is the way his cheeks flush. “I know.”

“Did you really keep my signature in your wallet for twenty-seven years?” She laughed quietly.

He blushed. “Yeah. It’s weird, right? I couldn’t even remember you. Just the way you made me feel.”

“And how’s that?” She asked, smiling.

He pushed some of her hair behind her ear, gentle as ever. “Not alone.”

She nuzzled his hand. “Need me to sign a new one for your wallet?”

“Only if you draw the hearts,” Ben laughed. They lay without speaking for a moment, drinking each other in like the lovesick teenagers they never got to be. “I’m gonna miss you these next few weeks.”

“We won’t forget again.” Beverly squeezed his hand. “Bill’s called us five times since leaving Maine, and his memory’s fine. Our lives together are finally going to exist outside of Derry.”

“I’m glad you’re going to be staying with Richie while you figure things out with Tom,” Ben said. “It’ll be good for both of you. He’s going to need someone around who knows the truth about what happened. I would go crazy if I had to lie about how Eddie died to everyone who knew him. And their kids…” he trailed off sadly.

Beverly knew the road would be rough ahead. She couldn’t imagine what Richie was going through, and knew it would only get harder from here on out.

“The next time I see you will be at the funeral,” she said. All the losers would be attending to support Richie and to say goodbye. Beverly squeezed her eyes shut with a shuddering exhale. “It’s so… so _fucking_ unfair.” She opened her eyes and Ben lifted a hand to wipe away her tears. “His…his nails were painted this purple color when he died. He told me at the restaurant that his daughter painted them, and I… I can’t get that image out of my head. How quickly he died, and now that little girl is never going to see him again. Richie’s never going to see him again.”

Ben’s crying too. He sat up, pulling Beverly into his arms. “I know.”

“You and I got so lucky,” she said, when her chest stopped hurting. “It almost feels wrong, that we’re making it out with each other.”

“You don’t need to feel guilty for being happy,” Ben murmured into her hair. “But I get what you mean.”

The alarm clock on the side table flashed eight a.m.. “I should get ready,” she sighed, feeling Ben nod and start to move behind her.

“I’ll help you pack.”

Stan, Mike and Richie were waiting for them in the lobby. Stan’s flight was around the same time as Bev and Richie’s so he would be accompanying them to the airport. Ben was staying with Mike for another day to help him finish packing for his move.

“Hey,” Beverly breathed, setting her suitcase down at the bottom of the stairs. “You guys ready?”

Stan tensed. He made eye contact with her. “Can we talk first?” He asked.

Mike regarded his watch, nodding. They had time.

Stan followed Bev to the door.

They sat on the curb outside the town house. The sidewalk was damp with the same moisture that hung in the air, the sky a dark gray that left no doubt it would rain later. It was the type of weather that made the whole world feel as though it was holding its breath.

“Hopefully our flights won’t get delayed,” Stan murmured, glancing up at the sky.

“Did you call your wife?” Beverly asked.

Stan nodded.

“What did you tell her?”

“As little as possible. That I’m coming home today, and I haven’t been getting her calls because we lost our friend in a freak accident. When I left I told her it was for an emergency work trip, but I doubt she bought it. Patty can read me like a book, especially when I don’t want to be lying to her- and I never want to lie to her. I’m grateful she’s saving her questions for now, though.”

“She trusts you.” Beverly looked over at him. His posture was rigid, hands folded in his lap, knuckles white. He stared straight ahead and didn’t respond. “Stan, can I ask you something?”

He blinked, and took a shallow breath, as though he knew what was coming. “Sure.”

Images flashed through her mind while she chose her next words. A bathtub. A razor. Droplets of blood splattering against pristine white tiles. Garbled words that she’d never been able to make sense of in her dreams, but now finally understood: _I swear, Bill._ The final nail in the coffin had been It’s message at the Jade- _Stanley is not supposed to be here._ “When Mike called you, did you consider-“

“Killing myself?” Stan finished tonelessly, ripping off the bandaid. “Yeah. I ran the bath and everything. I even wrote suicide notes for all you losers, and Patty.”

Beverly sat stunned. “Oh. _Stan…_ ”

“Patty stopped me,” Stan continued. “Not physically. She never found out about it, and I burned the notes when I decided that I wasn’t going to follow through. But when I had the razor to my arm, I realized that if I lived through Derry, and we killed It, I’d get to come home to her. We’d still have our whole lives ahead of us. Whether I killed myself or It killed me, I’m dead. But at least if I came back I would have a chance, and I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away just so I could be a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” Beverly said. She reached out and touched his wrist. “Stanley Uris, look at me. You are not a coward. You came back.”

“I almost didn’t,” A bitter smile flickered across his face. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing bandages wrapped just below his elbow. “I was just so _scared_. I came so close to taking myself off the board, without stopping to think what it would do to her until it was almost too late.” He yanked his sleeve back down, full of self-resentment. “I keep imagining putting Patty through what Richie is dealing with right now, and to think I almost caused her that much pain, I-“ his voice broke, and he crumbled, burying his face in his hands. Beverly immediately moved closer, wrapping her arms around his shaking form.

They stayed like that for a long time until Stan calmed down. He rubbed his tired face, wiping away tears. “Sorry. Thanks, Bev.”

“Don’t mention it.” She smiled a little, shifting to rest her head on his shoulder. “I’m happy you’re here, Stan.” She didn’t tell him that part of her hadn’t expected to see him at the Jade Of the Orient. Somehow, he overcame her vision, surprising even the clown. Stan was so much stronger than he thought.

“Me too.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry for what I said last night. You and Ben didn’t deserve that.”

“I forgive you,” Beverly told him. “I know what it must have seemed like.”

“Still. My reaction was uncalled for. I would never think those things about you.”

“I know.” She took his hand, squeezing gently before standing. He looked up at her, still holding her hand. “The best thing we can do now is to keep moving forward.”

She tugged him up, and he stumbled to his feet, both of them laughing like kids. She looked up at him and smiled.

“What?” He smiled back, tilting his head.

She shook her head. “Nothing. You just haven’t changed.”

Stan considered her fondly. “But I’m taller, right?”

Beverly laughed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is kind of a filler! next chapter will be stepping into Richie's pov while he and Bev travel home to the kids. His chapter will also explain what went down between Stan and Beverly, so dw i'm not leaving you guys hanging on that.
> 
> thanks for the support! comments and kudos are super appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> just did a bad thing.  
> i regret the thing i did.  
> this hurts a lot to write but i have a few ideas so be on the lookout for new chapters
> 
> comments are my fueL i will appreciate each and every one of them


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